Kidnapped by a Rogue, kindle

by Margaret Mallory

  As they locked gazes and their bodies rocked together, she felt as if their souls touched. Instead of fear, she was filled with wonder.

  Oh, oh, oh! Waves of blinding pleasure rolled through her as he thrust faster and harder, again and again, until he surged against her one last time, and they cried out together.

  She collapsed on top of him, sweating and out of breath. She had never lost control like that. She suspected she had even screamed. Nothing had ever felt so good, but she feared she must have shocked him.

  “Mo chridhe,” my heart, Finn said, holding her close. “That was beyond anything I imagined.”

  She sighed as he kissed her hair and ran his hand up and down her back.

  Making love with Finn was a revelation. Instead of making her feel used and inadequate, he had made her feel gloriously sensuous. She never dreamed a man could be so generous or make her feel that she was what he wanted, just as she was.

  “Why now?” Finn whispered.

  Because I love you. But she could not tell him that.

  “I don’t want to let fear keep me from this—and from you,” she said, which was also true. “Not anymore.”

  “Ye needn’t fear me,” he said. “I would never hurt you.”

  Though he would not mean to, she knew Una was right. Pain and sorrow were bound to come. But Margaret was determined to take the joy while she could.

  ###

  In the morning, Finn lay against the pillows with his arms around her, watching her sleep in the first light of dawn filtering through the narrow window. Margaret was breathtakingly beautiful with her flawless skin, angelic face, and silvery blond hair spread over the pillow. Last night, he watched in wonder as she first discovered and then reveled in her sensuality. In all his life, with the countless women he’d had, he’d never had a night like that, never felt so much, never needed a woman so. She was an amazing lass, his Maggie.

  It pained him that he had no hope of keeping her. He was still a landless warrior with no proper home to give her. If anything, his uncle’s probable death made his future even less certain than before.

  During the night, he had turned to her again and again, each time making love as if was the last time. Because he knew it could be. He feared she would change her mind and decide this was a grave mistake, and he might never hold her in his arms again.

  And each time he was inside her, he lost another piece of his heart to her, until she had it all.

  CHAPTER 23

  Though Margaret sensed it was near dawn, she snuggled closer to Finn and refused to open her eyes. She never wanted this night to end. She had never felt so close to anyone—or such intense pleasure or tenderness—as when they made love.

  She would hold the memory with her always.

  If only they could stay in their chamber, just the two of them, a little longer. But their troubles would not wait. When Margaret finally gave in and opened her eyes, she found Finn watching her.

  “Thank you for last night,” Finn said, and gave her one last kiss that was so tender it made her heart weep. “’Tis early. Stay and get some rest. I’ll go see how my aunt and uncle fare.”

  “I’ll go with ye.” If the earl and Helen had passed on during the night, she did not want him to face that alone.

  They dressed quickly and went to his aunt and uncle’s bedchamber.

  “They’re resting nice and peaceful,” one the maids told them, which sounded to Margaret like the end was near.

  “Thank you,” Margaret said in a hushed voice. “Get some sleep. I’ll stay with them.”

  Finn held his aunt’s hand and spoke to the couple, though it was doubtful they could hear him.

  “Alex is safe,” he assured them. “I give ye my word that, no matter what comes, I will look after him.”

  Helen’s eyelids fluttered briefly, so perhaps she did hear and Finn’s words gave her some comfort. Margaret hoped so.

  Finn heaved a sigh and got to his feet. “I’ll question everyone, starting with the guards at the gate, to see if I can find a clue as to who did this and why.”

  Margaret wanted to hold him in her arms again, but it was not comfort he needed now but answers. “I’ll send for ye if there is any change.”

  After adjusting the ill couple’s bedclothes and wiping their foreheads, she curled up on the chair next to the bed. She had gotten almost no sleep and had to struggle to stay awake. She must have drifted off because she was jolted awake by screams.

  She sat up, disoriented, and looked about the room for the cause of the alarm. The ill couple still lay unmoving on the bed. As her mind cleared, she realized the screams were coming from a distance.

  She ran down the stairs. In the hall, the men who slept on the benches and floor were lurching to their feet and grabbing their weapons. But then, almost as one, they halted in place, as if uncertain what was required of them, as it became clear the screams were not the sounds of an attack but of a lone woman wailing in grief.

  When the men saw Margaret enter in the hall, their relief was almost palpable.

  “Come with me,” she said, pointing to two of them. “I may need your help.”

  She followed the wretched sound down the separate stairs into the dark undercroft, where the kitchen and storerooms were. The woman’s wails echoed against the stone walls, filling the enclosed space with a misery so wretched it made Margaret’s eyes sting.

  What tragedy awaited her? A young maid came running from the opposite direction and nearly knocked her over. Margaret caught the maid by her shoulders and spoke with a calm she did not feel. “Tell me what’s happened.”

  “I had to fetch her!” the maid babbled. “He told me not to, but I didn’t know what else to do. Don’t ye see, I had to!”

  What Margaret could see was that she was not going to get anything sensible out of the maid. “I’ll take care of it,” she told her. “Go sit in the hall.”

  Margaret lifted her skirts and hurried past the kitchens toward the pitiful sounds until she reached an open door. Light from a lamp inside revealed a storage room containing bags of oats, a barrel, and two cots that she assumed were used by kitchen servants.

  A woman was on her knees beside one of the cots and holding the hand of someone lying on it. Margaret gasped when she saw the woman’s profile and realized who it was. What in heaven’s name was Isabel doing down here?

  “Isabel,” Margaret called softly.

  When Isabel spun around, the sharp planes of her face were distorted with anguish.

  “He’s dying!” Isabel cried. “My son is dying!”

  For one terrible moment Margaret thought she meant Finn, and her heart stopped in her chest. But it could not be Finn. He was outside questioning the guards. And his mother would never weep like this for him.

  When Margaret stepped closer, she saw that the man on the cot was Bearach. His limbs were tangled in the bedsheet from tossing and turning, and his chest glistened with sweat, but his eyes were alert.

  “For God’s sake, shut her up!” Bearach said.

  “Let me help,” Margaret said, resting her hand on Isabel’s shoulder. “What can I do?”

  “My darling son is dying!” Isabel wailed. “He’s dying!”

  “I’m ill, not dying,” Bearach growled. “Now get out, before Curstag hears your yowling. If she finds me here, she’ll know I was with one of the maids again.”

  “You’re supposed to be at Girnigoe Castle,” his mother said. “Why did ye come back?”

  “When the weather turned nasty, I decided the visit could wait another day and turned around,” he said. “I slipped into the kitchen while everyone else was at supper and persuaded that bonny lass with the fiery hair to spend the night with me.”

  “Have ye had any food or drink since ye returned?” Margaret asked.

  “Why?” Bearach asked in surly tone.

  “Your aunt and uncle are gravely ill,” Margaret said. “We suspect they were poisoned at supper.”

  “Tell me ye tou
ched nothing,” his mother pleaded.

  ­­“I stole the earl’s best wine that he saves for himself, the selfish bastard,” he said, and pointed at an ornate silver flagon on the floor.

  Margaret recognized it as the one that was always placed at the earl’s end of the table.

  “Nay! Nay!” Isabel wailed, tearing at her hair. “Why did ye drink it? Why did ye come back?”

  From the look of panic on Bearach’s face, he finally understood why his mother was wailing. Neither panic nor wailing, however, would help the situation.

  “We don’t know that the poison was in the wine,” Margaret said, attempting to calm them.

  “He’s dying!” Isabel cried, louder than before. “My son is dying!”

  ­­“Listen to me.” Margaret pulled Isabel to her feet and gave her shoulders a shake. “Even if there was poison in the wine, that doesn’t mean Bearach will die.”

  “You’re lying,” Bearach said. “My aunt and uncle are already dying from the poison, aren’t they?”

  “You’re not as ill as they are, which probably means ye consumed far less of the poison,” Margaret said in a firm voice. “Besides that, you’re young and strong, so you’ve a good chance of surviving this.”

  She prayed it was true. Though she could find nothing to like about either Bearach or Isabel, they did not deserve this.

  “Aye, ye will recover,” Isabel said, finally gaining her composure. “Being half Sinclair, you’ve stronger blood than the earl and Helen.”

  “We need to move ye up to your bedchamber.” Margaret signaled to the two men who had followed her and were waiting just outside the room. “You’ll be more comfortable there.” And easier to care for.

  “Don’t tell Curstag…where ye found me,” Bearach said between gritted teeth as the men helped him to his feet and slung his arms around their shoulders.

  “Everyone will say,” Isabel ordered, glaring at the men and Margaret, “that Bearach returned during the night and slept in the hall so as not to disturb his wife.”

  How Bearach and Isabel could connive to deceive Curstag in the midst of this was beyond her. In any case, the lie proved unnecessary.

  Curstag had slept through all the commotion. When the men banged open the door as they hefted Bearach inside, Curstag leaped out of bed in her night shift.

  “God help me, he’s wounded!” she shrieked, and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t bear to see his blood! I can’t, I can’t!”

  Seeing that Curstag would be no help, Margaret hurried to pull down the bedclothes so the men could help Bearach into bed. She turned back around in time to see Isabel slap her daughter-in-law hard across the face.

  “He’s not bleeding, he’s poisoned, ye fool,” Isabel said. “Calm yourself and stay out of the way.”

  Good heavens. “Isabel,” Margaret said gently as she stepped between the two women, “your son needs you.”

  In a flash, Isabel’s expression went from angry to stricken. While she rushed to her son’s bedside, Curstag fled from the room, still wearing nothing but her thin shift. Margaret sent a maid after her with instructions to give Curstag a draught of whisky and put her to bed in one of the other chambers.

  “What can I do for ye, mo chridhe?” my heart, Isabel asked as she ran her hand over Bearach’s forehead.

  “Leave me alone,” Bearach groaned and pushed her away.

  “There must be something I can do,” Isabel said, desperation in her voice.

  “We gave the earl and Helen mugwort and a tincture of fennel seeds boiled in wine,” Margaret said. Though these common remedies for poisoning had not helped the ill couple at all, Isabel needed to feel she was doing something to help her son. “There’s some left in the kitchen.”

  “Of course,” Isabel murmured to herself, then she stood up and pointed a long, bony finger at Margaret. “Don’t give my son any of your useless remedies. I’ll make a tincture myself.”

  With that, Isabel scurried out of the chamber, leaving Margaret alone with Bearach. While she waited for Isabel to return, she straightened his bedding. When she leaned over to fluff his pillow, he locked an arm around her waist.

  “I knew you’d crawl into my bed sooner or later,” he said, his sour breath in her face.

  She was so startled that she did not react quickly enough, which gave him time to squeeze her breast before she shoved him away. She’d become accustomed to men leaving her alone because of Finn and let her guard down.

  “Have pity on an ill man,” Bearach said.

  “You’ll mind your hands if ye don’t wish to be injured as well,” she said.

  He laughed at her, which caused him to wheeze and then fall into a long coughing fit. That sapped his strength, and he soon fell into a sound sleep.

  She was waiting for Isabel to return so she could go check on Ella when she heard running footsteps coming up the stairwell. A moment later, Finn burst through the doorway. When he saw his brother on the bed, he staggered backward as if from a blow.

  “Is it true, then?” he asked. “He’s been poisoned too?”

  Margaret went to him and touched his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Why?” Finn asked, gripping her arms. “Why Bearach?”

  “I don’t believe he was an intended victim,” she said in a low voice so as not to wake Bearach. “Your brother drank the wine that was in the earl’s silver flagon.”

  As she told him the rest, Finn clenched and unclenched his jaw.

  “Your father doesn’t know yet.”

  “I’d better go find him and tell him,” Finn said, clearly dreading the task. Before leaving, he approached the bed and stared down at his brother. “Poor Bearach.”

  “Get out!” Isabel shouted from the doorway. “I’ll not have ye near him.”

  Isabel rushed into the room, stood between the bed and Finn, and flung her arms out as if warding off an attack. Margaret was too stunned to move.

  “’Tis bad luck to have ye here when ye wish him dead,” Isabel said.

  “How can ye say that?” Finn asked. “Bearach is my only brother. I’ve never wished him ill, and I pray now that he’ll soon recover.”

  “That’s a lie!” Isabel’s hands were shaking, and her eyes were dark and wild. “Ye hope to take his place as heir.”

  “Isabel, please stop,” Margaret said.

  “Ye want Garty for yourself!” Isabel shouted at Finn.

  “After the misery I suffered at Garty, ye think I want it?” Finn said as he backed toward the door. “I never want to see that goddamned place again.”

  “I swear ye won’t have it! Bearach will recover,” Isabel shouted. “Get out! Get out!

  But Finn was already gone.

  ###

  Finn tore out of the room, stunned by his brother’s poisoning and his mother’s accusations. In his blind rush, he nearly crashed into Curstag in the dimly lit stairwell. At the last moment, he caught her. When he tried to release her, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest, sobbing.

  He wanted to beat his fists against the wall and run until his heart could take no more. Most of all, he wanted to be alone. But Curstag feared she was losing her husband. She needed and deserved what comfort he could give her. Tamping down the feelings raging inside him, he forced himself to put his arms around her and hold her while she wept.

  “I feel so alone,” she said. “What will I do if…”

  “Shh. You’re not alone,” he said as he rubbed his hand up and down her back. “And ye mustn’t give up hope.”

  He heard a light step above him and looked up. Around the curve of the wheeled stairs, he saw Margaret’s silhouette outside his brother’s door. With the light behind her, her face was in darkness and he could not make out her expression.

  Before he could untangle himself from Curstag, she disappeared back inside his brother’s chamber. He told himself Margaret was a levelheaded lass, and she would see this for what it was.

  CHAPTER 24 />
  Margaret spent the rest of the day moving between the two chambers of the ill, directing the servants and giving what comfort and help she could. Most of the time she was too busy to dwell on what she had seen in the stairwell, but every time she went up and down the stairs between the two chambers, the image of Curstag in Finn’s arms came back to her.

  With three members of the household poisoned and fighting death, it would be petty to let that embrace trouble her. Curstag was in need of comfort, and it would be unkind for Finn not to give it. And yet Margaret could not help thinking there was something between those two that Finn had not told her.

  By the end of the day, Margaret was weary to her bones. Most of the household had already gone to bed, and the castle was quiet as she climbed the stairs one last time to take a fresh pitcher of water to Bearach’s chamber and ask Isabel if she needed anything else for the night. Isabel could not be persuaded to leave Bearach’s bedside and let the servants care for him even for a few hours so she could rest.

  The door to his chamber was slightly ajar, and a thin shaft of candlelight shone through the crack into the dark stairwell. When she heard voices, Margaret paused outside the door. Despite the vinegary concoction Isabel had forced down Bearach’s throat, his condition had worsened through the day, and Margaret was hesitant to intrude on what could be one of their last conversations.

  “What have ye done, Mother?” Bearach’s voice reached her through the crack. “What have ye done?”

  Was he upset that Isabel had turned Finn away? Perhaps, fearing death, Bearach wished to reconcile with his only brother. Margaret hoped so. Isabel only wept in response.

  Careful not to make a sound, Margaret left the pitcher beside the door and left.

  The image of Finn holding Curstag came back to her once again as she climbed the last set of stairs to the bedchamber she shared with Finn. Even if that embrace meant nothing, it was a reminder that she was one of a long string of women Finn had taken to bed. That day outside Huntly Castle, Alex had told her Finn was not the sort of man to stay with one woman for long.

  That should not make her feel like a blade was piercing her heart, since their affair could not last anyway. Once this crisis with his family passed, Finn could take her to Sybil, and that would be the end of it. She had risked too much already and ought to end it now. She had a glorious night to remember, and that would have to be enough.